Fire
by Kodiak Bear Country
Summary: There were as many ways to die as there were to live. You could drown, bleed, freeze, explode, fall, burn, seize, electrocute, sicken and then you could take just about any variation of the above and come up with a hundred different combinations.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Fire  
Author: Kodiak bear  
Cat: Gen  
Beta: sholio and Linzi, for testing the 'whumpability' factor grin  
Rating: T  
Spoilers: **Anything up to and including episode 3x16 , The Ark**

Summary: There were as many ways to die as there were to live. You could drown, bleed, freeze, explode, fall, burn, seize, electrocute, sicken; and then you could take just about any variation of the above and come up with a hundred different combinations. Written for the Sheppard H/C challenge #7, with these prompts: Element – fire, theme – broken bones, blood, line – Where the hell are you going with that, Colonel? I've only used the first two

AN: This fic has one thing about it that I don't like: no plot. Seriously, it's your basic "bad villagers chase team, they get hurt, have to get home" and nothing more. I wanted it basic when I started because I don't have a lot of time to devote to a response for the challenge and also, this is a character driven introspection story. But the lack of plot bugs me, and even though I still like some things very much in this, I still regret that it isn't _more_.

**Fire**

_The four stages of a forest fire are: ignition, flaming, smouldering and extinction_.

**Ignition**

_There were as many ways to die as there were to live. You could drown, bleed, freeze, explode, fall, burn, seize, electrocute, sicken; and then you could take just about any variation of the above and come up with a hundred different combinations; and all that meant in the long run, was that there were a hell of a lot of ways to die. The ironic thing was, in the past few years John had gone up against most of those. He'd drowned, bled, exploded, fell, sickened and almost froze. The drowning had happened the first time he'd gone through the 'gate. The timeline he didn't live because it'd been altered by Elizabeth's trip to the time before the Ancients abandoned Atlantis. They'd crashed in the Jumper and fell to the depths below and John and Radek died while Elizabeth survived. She'd stuck around the city, and with Janus' help, set a different timeline into play. _

_He'd exploded while riding an asteroid through a planet's atmosphere; he'd been surprised the ancient shuttle had stayed intact…that he'd stayed intact. He'd frozen on a ship losing atmosphere. He'd had his F302 blown into pieces while he was in it, and ridden a nuke into the belly of a Hive ship only to be beamed clear before it blew. He'd fallen out of the sky more times than he cared to count. Crash after crash; and he'd survived every one. He'd been sickened by the retrovirus, mutated and changed, and he'd still lived. He'd bled from the Beast and from gunshot wounds – what was it about his arm, anyway? The Iratus bug had forced everyone's hand and they'd electrocuted him, shorted out his heart and he'd died. It hadn't mattered much at that point; he was convinced he was going to die, whether it was from the defibrillator or the bug, and personally, he'd liked the idea of cheating that bug out of dinner. _

_When he'd come to in the infirmary, he'd been almost disappointed because the only thing he'd remembered during his stint as one of the dead, was blackness. Where were the lush green meadows and snow-capped mountains? Or the pearly gates or the sulfurous pits of hell? He had thought if he went anywhere, it'd probably be hell. He'd killed enough to earn a spot, especially lately. But he hadn't expected nothing. It was anti-climatic. How many people get to die and live to tell about it, and all he had to show for it was nothingness. Blackness. _

_When you joined the military, you quickly got in touch with three things within yourself: spirituality, the meaning of life, and death. Spiritually, John had long ago reconciled himself to the fact that, if there was a God, he didn't seem to give a damn about him, and therefore, John didn't much give a shit, either. He didn't pray for last minute reprieves or miracles, but sometimes if it was bad enough, he'd hoped someone else would. His experience dying only solidified that he was doing this life – and death -- thing on his own. _

_He'd also figured out that the meaning of life was that there wasn't any meaning. It just was. You could stare at rainbows and stars and into the depths of the oceans, but all you were going to see was that everything around you was going on about their life, lost in their own routines and activities. No one had the magical answer as to why people were. What was the meaning of happiness, sadness, birth and death, and all the time in between? Some organisms would live only days while some would live for billions of years, shining in space. What meaning were you supposed to get out of that? A cosmic entity got to spend eons just being, while other things got to experience time in such a relatively short span that in the grand scheme of things, all it really proved was that the universe wasn't an even playing ground. Humans lived eighty- some years, give or take. Dogs lived around fourteen or fifteen. And some species of turtles could live for centuries. That's about the time John figured out that life was about as big a wheel of fortune as there ever was. Some landed on the jackpot, some hit bankruptcy, and some just seemed to keep hitting numbers high enough to stay in the game._

_John thought that he'd gotten a pretty good grasp on his draw in life. He was one of those that only hit enough to stay in the game. He'd avoided bankruptcy more times than he'd a right to. On the surface, you'd think cheating death was a good thing. How can staying alive be anything but great, right? Especially when there wasn't a whole lot to look forward to on the other side. Well, the problem was, he kept getting lucky, and he kept surviving the impossible, along with his team, and if you do that too many times, you begin to feel invincible. Immortal. No, not immortal, just – inviolate. You can live through anything. Your friends can survive anything. _

_And, John thought, it was a real bitch when you realized just how wrong your assumptions could be._

OoO

They were running. Or, rather, they were _trying_ to run. Sheppard was carrying a stunned McKay, staggering under the awkward weight while Ronon and Teyla covered them from behind; they'd sprint two feet or so, turn to fire, and then repeat it all over again. The whine of blasts coming way too close caused John to stumble, list drunkenly to the side, then steady the body on his shoulder and press on, his stride barely breaking.

They'd come to MX5-023 on a trading mission. A meet and greet. The Stargate was in a cave so that'd ruled out using a Jumper. Sheppard hated not having his ship as back-up. He felt almost naked without the familiar presence humming in the back of his mind. No escape, no sanctuary, no drones to take out the bad guys in space ships.

Months ago, in a cold organic cell, he'd met his first Wraith sympathizer. Now, almost a year later, they met a whole village of 'em. At first, they'd been greeted with open, welcoming arms. _Hello_ and _come eat with us_ and _trade would be wonderful_, but the key was wonderful for _whom, _and that'd be the villagers and the Wraith, not John and his team.

When Teyla had knelt to tie her boot she'd seen a bundle shoved underneath a desk in the Chancellor's office. Curiosity, touched by a niggling intuition she'd felt since they'd arrived, caused her to pull the bundle free and glance at the contents. She found Sheppard's picture and a list of names, including Teyla, Rodney, and Ronon, along with a Wraith communicator.

Teyla had hurriedly shoved it back in place and stood before the woman that was assigned to take her on tour returned. Then she'd made an excuse to check in with the men of her team, where John and Ronon and Rodney had been sitting through a demonstration of fighting techniques in hand-to-hand combat.

She'd whispered in John's ear and he'd fought to hide the alarm that snaked to life inside his gut. Apparently, he hadn't done such a good job of hiding anything and if they got out of this alive, John was going to have to set up some card games and work on getting his poker face on. But now, as he ducked another stunner shot and swore about how Rodney wasn't helping anything by playing dead, he'd settle for just getting out of this alive.

The village had been a few klicks from the caves; the caves had been part of a mountain range and the one housing the Stargate had been thankfully at ground level. It was in an area the villagers had cleared of trees, but the forest grew stubbornly around the buildings and the cultivated fields. There was rock to one side, trees to the other. When John had made their excuses, saying that they needed to check in so their people knew they were fine, the villagers had reacted by standing between John and his team and the path to the caves.

When John had protested, stunners had been the reaction of the day. _Figures, John_, he scolded himself. _Wraith sympathizers are going to have Wraith weapons!_ Everyone except Rodney had been able to duck and dodge. "Shoot but try not to kill them!" John had ordered. They'd returned fire, Teyla trying to shoot high and to the side, but John had seen at least two villagers fall to the P90, just because there were so many of them, and when you're running and aiming, shots are going to go wild. Ronon's gun had been set to stun and four villagers were down before John had even managed to haul Rodney onto his shoulder. They'd had to run away from the caves, away from the Stargate, and head into the forest.

Another blast whizzed too close, and Sheppard slid to the left, his foot shooting out from under him when he hit a patch of leaves. He went down with a surprised _oomph_, Rodney rolling heavily to the side.

"John?" Teyla called, glancing over her shoulder while trading fire with the pursuing villagers.

"Fine," he gasped. He struggled back to his feet, grabbing Rodney under his arms and starting to haul him up, when McKay groaned and blinked. "Come on, Rodney, I could use some help here!"

"Shep'rd?" Rodney's eyes fluttered opened and he stared cross-eyed, confused.

"Yeah, it's me, now run, or we're going to be Wraith food!"

"Run?" he asked, then his eyes rolled up.

Damn it!

"John, do you hear that?" Teyla shouted over the sounds of stunners and the _rat-tat-tat_ of her P90. There were shouts from the villagers and the rustling of the leaves overhead. And the roaring…roaring of water!

"A river?" Sheppard shouted.

She nodded while Ronon glared and shot another villager that was brave enough to get too close.

Head toward the river, see if it led to the caves. Odds were good it did, but they'd need to go upriver and if – "Son of a bitch!" John swore. He'd just barely avoided another stunner shot. What was it going to take to get these guys off their backs?

Again, he resumed his stumbling run, this time heading for the source of the sound. The ground was slippery, needles and leaves and lichen. It was a funny thing, the ground could get like this in two conditions; wet and very, _very _dry. This time happened to be because it was dry. _Just our luck_, he thought sourly, because it made it hard to hide their trail or muffle the sounds of their feet. Every step was _crunch, crunch_ and _snap, snap_, as dry leaves and branches broke under their boots.

Guess it didn't matter, anyway. The villagers weren't far enough back that there was any hope of hiding their progress. There wasn't a heck of a lot of stealth involved in running for your life.

"Whoa!" John slid to a stop, almost toppling over. Ronon's hand grabbing his jacket and yanking him back was all that kept John and Rodney from taking a header down the cliff and into the river below. Holy crap. It must've been a good eighty to a hundred feet down, and that water looked about as angry as hell. Whitewater rapids as far as he could see; as a plan began to form, he could only hope it was deep enough.

"Shep'rd?" Rodney's head moved along with his mouth as he tried to look around.

Teyla's gun clicked, out of ammo.

They'd managed to put a little distance between them and the bad guys, but not enough. The villagers would be on them in seconds.

"Put me down!" Rodney ordered, indignant and suddenly shaking off the effects of the stunner with more speed than before.

"There's too many of them," Ronon panted, bending at the waist.

Their backs were literally against the wall. John looked down and then over his shoulder to see slivers of people coming closer through the trees. The villagers had slowed their approach. They knew Sheppard and his team were trapped. It'd be practically suicide to jump, but it was also suicide not too. Death by water or death by Wraith? One now, one later… But at least jumping gave them a chance.

"We've got to jump." He let Rodney slide to the ground, stared at him apprehensively. "McKay, you with us?"

"Oh, great," Rodney groaned. "I wake up just in time to die."

"We're not gonna die." Ronon glared defiantly at the water. "Try to hit with your legs stiff, don't bend."

Teyla nodded. John steadied Rodney, grabbed his arm, and looked at him. "You ready?"

"No!" A blue blast blowing by their heads caused Rodney to shake and shout, "Fine, fine, let's go!"

John took a deep breath, glanced a final time at his team and nodded. Then they turned and ran for it, taking a leap off the edge and feeling air underneath their feet. Butch and Sundance, except now it was times two. He saw, out of the periphery of his vision, Teyla and Ronon flailing madly, trying to keep their bodies upright as the air buffeted them on the way down. Thanks to gravity, free-fall was a fast experience. Not too much time to contemplate how bad it was gonna hurt when you hit.

The impact of his body with the water jarred his teeth so hard that John worried they'd been pushed up into his skull. He felt one of his legs shear back, heard the snap, and felt the "oh my fucking God" pain burn hot, bright, and fantastically strong, shooting through his entire nervous system with amazing speed and making him gasp.

The bad thing about gasping when you've hit water is that you tend to inhale water, and John was gulping bucket loads of icy mountain run-off, desperately trying to stay afloat even while he tried hard not to scream from the pain of having his leg pulled back and snapped like one of the dry twigs he'd stepped on earlier.

Oh, damn, damn, damn, _DAMN_, that hurt!

He coughed, spluttered, and felt his lungs burn along with his leg and saw the swirl of clouds blur into the blue of the sky. Water at his chin was suddenly over his head, and John couldn't see anything anymore.

OoO

He woke up screaming and retching and reaching for the source of unremitting agony down low on his body. Strong hands shoved his shoulders down and it pissed John off that he fell back without even a struggle. Weak. He felt boneless from the pain. He also felt leaves underneath him, and roots, and he was shaking and shivering and feeling like he was going to throw up. "What the --" he rasped.

"I'm trying to help you; quit fighting me, Sheppard."

Rodney leaned over John and fiddled with something near the hot spot, the location of his invocation, or epitaph, or … damn, he had no idea. He couldn't think straight and who the hell cared anyway. "You're killing me, McKay," he whined. Because seriously, he _was_. Sheppard was sure that the pain was that big and overpowering.

Not even being shot had hurt this bad.

"I gave you morphine, you shouldn't be feeling anything." But John could see Rodney pause and stare at him. "Seriously, what are you feeling?"

Agony. Fire. Freaking-cut-my-leg-off-and-throw-it-away-and-it'd-make-it-all-better pain. "There's no way you gave me morphine," he gritted through clenched teeth.

With a frown, Rodney started fishing around in the forest detritus until he came back with an empty ampoule. He read the label and his eyebrows went back, his eyes widened and he said, "Oh, no."

"Oh, no, what?" John's fingers clenched and his nails dug into the hard dirt.

"I gave you a stimulant." He gave a frustrated sigh and dropped the hand holding the wrong medicine against his thigh. "I'm sorry, it was just…you almost drowned, I almost drowned; they were next to each other in the small kit that survived our fall and I must've grabbed the wrong one…

Crap. No wonder John had woken up to his leg being splinted. _Then again_, he thought, as he pushed up with a shaky elbow, he hadn't even thought he'd wake up at all after he'd gone under. "What happened?" He was starting to gather enough of his senses together, and ironically, that was thanks to Rodney giving him the wrong medication. They were in a forest, he could still hear the river not far off, but Ronon and Teyla weren't anywhere to be seen. "How did…"

"How'd we survive?" Rodney guessed. He shook his head and wiped a tired hand across his forehead, glaring at the sunlight beating down on them through the branches. There were lines of pain around Rodney's mouth but John couldn't see anything as an obvious cause. "I think Ronon had a lot to do with it." He glanced back at John, wincing as he moved. "Truthfully, it's a little blurry."

"What --"

"What happened to the villagers?" Rodney interrupted again.

"Would you quit doing that?"

"I'm sorry! You know I get like this when I'm nervous."

John had to breathe in a few times to avoid embarrassing himself by moaning pitifully. "I know, it's okay, just tell me while I can still think straight, what's going on?"

"We're about a kilometer or two downriver," he looked frustrated, "_away_ from the caves and the 'gate, in case you're wondering. We're on the opposite shore from where we were. Ronon and Teyla hauled us into the woods, so we're somewhat safe, at least for the time being. They went to scout around and see if there's shelter, or a path back to the 'gate."

"Is there?" he asked, craning his neck so he could look around. Definitely in trees and the hard ground was doing nothing for the fiery pain that had shifted into a deep thrumming ache that set his teeth on edge and made him want to punch something, just so he could distract himself from it for one second.

_CRACK!_

Rodney shot an alarmed look at Sheppard before reaching for his 9 mm. "It's wet," he whispered, breathless. "Is it going to work?"

"Maybe," Sheppard replied warily. He tried to get up, but instead of making it anywhere, he had to bite back a groan.

"Oh, great." Rodney rolled his eyes heavenward and seemed to think about how many times everything had gone against their luck. He knew he was the only thing between John and whatever it was that was coming their way, so he squared his shoulders and pointed the gun toward the noise. The barrel only shook a little.

When Ronon and Teyla emerged, Ronon carrying the source of the noise, the big guy regarded the gun aimed at his chest and casually shook his head. "Just us, McKay." He didn't look worried at all that Rodney might have shot him. Instead, he hefted the branch, about mid-chest size in length and about six inches thick, and explained, "Thought you might need a crutch. It's not much, but --"

"It'll have to do," Sheppard surmised. Of course, that was if he could even get to his feet, let alone stay upright and hop-walk.

"That's good," Ronon said.

His tone caused John's head to cock to the side, exasperated. "What?" he demanded. "Just say it."

"They're shooting flaming arrows into the trees. Smoke us out, is my guess. They know the river will keep it from crossing to their side."

"This just keeps getting better and better." John felt sick from the pain, sick at the thought that the woods were about to go up in flames all around them, and sick that he was going to be the liability that got his team killed if they didn't leave him behind.

And now that Ronon mentioned it, he finally figured out what that smell was that'd been growing more persistent in the air, niggling at him in the only place in his head that wasn't still screaming from the pain in his leg; w_oodsmoke_. "We've got to go," he said, because he'd drilled the "we don't leave people behind" too many times to expect them to leave him now.

It was something John had reluctantly accepted. You can't have it both ways. You can't fight to save every person, risk your life repeatedly, then when it was your life in the hotseat, expect those around you to disregard it. To leave you to save their own skin.

And it kinda sucked. Not that he wasn't proud of his team, or proud that he worked with people who felt mostly the same; no, he was and is. And it wasn't that he hadn't come to terms with it, because he had. After the events on Sateda, John had realized something. His team would either live together, or die together. Well, unless John was kidnapped and fed to a Wraith again, but what're the odds that'd happen? Frowning, he shoved the disturbing thought away.

"Don't put any weight on your leg," Rodney reminded him, gasping a little. "It's already a mess. Carson wouldn't appreciate you making it worse."

"I won't; trust me, Rodney, putting weight on my leg is the last thing on my mind." He waved his hand toward Ronon. "Help me up," he grunted.

Teyla pushed her weapon to the side and took an arm while Ronon took the other. That's when John noticed how little Rodney had moved. He started putting together pieces – the wincing, the breathlessness… John wasn't normally this slow, but the pain – no, scratch that – the gut-twisting agony from his leg had distracted him.

"What's wrong with yooo_uuu_ – _son of a bitch_!" It got twisted and cut-off by his sudden need to swear through the haze of red as Ronon and Teyla hefted him up off the ground. Crap! John tried to act like he was okay, even through the cold sweat that seemed to break out all over his face and the dizziness. He'd had a few broken bones before, but he'd been mostly lucky in that afterwards, all he'd had to worry about was lying there and waiting for someone to help him with a stretcher and morphine.

This time, he was having to stand, and think, and try very hard to not pass out. He almost begged for some drugs, but he knew it was a bad idea. He could barely function now, let alone sedated. He wasn't going to be the weak link…well, okay, he was already, but he wasn't going to _willingly_ make it worse.

"Are you all right?" Teyla asked worriedly.

He waved her off. Not because he was okay, but because he didn't have the ability to answer. Then Rodney was standing, hunching, pushing an arm against his belly while staggering over to John. "I broke ribs, Sheppard." Rodney was a smart guy; he'd known what John had tried to ask before the pain had snatched the words away.

"How…bad?" John gasped, happy he could at least talk again.

Rodney looked at him impatiently. "How does your broken leg feel?"

"Don't be…such a…jerk."

Teyla thrust the branch-crutch at John. "We must go." She tilted her head towards the treetops. "The smoke is getting thicker and we'll need the cover of the trees for as long as possible while we work back towards the caves. They'll have people waiting along the other side of the river. When the fire gets too close or the smoke too thick and we must head to the riverbank, we'll be," her chin came down and her mouth curled, "how do you say it, John? Sitting ducks?"

John swallowed and nodded. He knew that. The smell was stronger. "Where'd they start the fire, upriver or down from where we're at?"

"Up," Ronon replied. "We'll have to try and cut west of the river, quickly, get ahead of it if we can. Least the wind's not blowing, that'll give us some time."

"That's too dangerous!" Rodney's face twisted in disbelief. "We can't walk faster than fire can move, especially not with gimp Sheppard."

The reminder of John's liability did nothing for his mood. "We don't have a choice, Rodney." He tried to jump forward, leaning heavily on the stick. He was pretty sure he didn't faint from the pain.

"If we go east, we'll be forced into the open by the river. It is too dangerous. We'll have to try to go around and hope that it does not spread faster than we can move."

Rodney remained stubbornly hunched over. "It'll spread faster."

"Then what should we do, McKay?" demanded Ronon. "Go east and get captured? Give up and be handed over to the Wraith?" He shook his head and snarled, "I'd rather burn to death."

"Carry me," John said.

They stared at him. He looked at the stick, then down at his leg, tied in the white bandages meant for slings and splints made in the field. "Look, Rodney's right. We're not gonna be able to outrun this. Not with me slowing you down. I know you won't leave me behind, so carry me." And his damn pride would just have to slink off and sulk in private.

Ronon glared. "You hate me carrying you."

"I hate dying more," John pointed out reasonably. Then he glanced to Rodney, who was contemplating the possibilities. "With your ribs, you think you can move fast enough to give us a shot?"

He bobbed his head, conceding the possibility. "Maybe. But I'll need painkillers. Lots of them. Because seriously, I'm in a lot of pain here."

John rolled his eyes and nodded at Teyla. She knelt by the opened pack that was mostly ruined after their trip through the river, and drew a packet of pills, tossing them to Rodney. He quickly dry swallowed, then inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders. He winced again and said, "Okay, let's do this. Before I change my mind about how crazy this is."

Ronon looked warily at John. "You ready?"

No. But, "Just do it."

"It's gonna hurt."

"It can't hurt more than it already does."

Ronon nodded, then got his hands under John's shoulders, waiting for John to wrap his arms around Ronon's neck. This was so damn embarrassing. _Dying is worse, dying is worse_, John chanted in his head. Then Ronon swept a hand down lower, bringing up John's bottom half, cradling him like he was a stupid kid; the pain made him turn his face against Ronon's leather shirt and muffle an unmanly scream against the runner's chest and then everything went mercifully gray.

AN: this story has four parts, to coincide with the four stages of forest fires. I've got the first three written, still doing edits, and I'm finishing the wrap up (part four). So this should be complete within a couple of days and I'll try to get part 2 and 3 up tomorrow if I can, if not 4 but I've got yard work day tomorrow and washing cars so not sure I'll make it that fast!


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** I'm posting this on the run, part 3 should arrive tonight crosses fingers if my day goes smoothly, but looks like 4 will be tomorrow. I haven't had a chance to thank everyone for their wonderful comments, and I'm going to try to soon, but in the mean time, thank you! I appreciate it so much, and batman's beauty, I think it was you that made the Ronon and Teyla comment, and yes, they actually get to "save the day" so to speak in this. **  
**

**Flaming**

_There was this thing with coming to Atlantis: it had shaken up his life, changed his outlook and ruined all the generalities he'd started to cling to. Before, John had thought he'd gotten the world pegged. Trial and error, fortune and misfortune. People were generally nice, amiable, until you did something they disproved of or didn't like, and then they could be jerks and turn on you faster than you could blink. It was the whole pack mentality thing, and for as evolved as human beings thought they were, they could still behave like animals. It'd been a pretty rude awakening coming to in a hospital on Ramstein, being told how lucky you were to have been rescued in an ancillary operation, and then, "Oh, by the way, as soon as you're on your feet, you're to be shipped back home for a court martial. Feel better soon."_

_It was one of the reasons why he'd quietly accepted his punishment assignment to McMurdo, the angry political slap on his wrist, and a black mark to follow him around for the rest of his career. He'd decided after that, the hell with everyone else; helicopters, blue skies and cheap entertainment, they were perfectly fine by him. He'd reconciled the crap in his life and had settled in for the long haul. Then General O'Neill had showed up, Carson loosed a drone at them in the air, and he'd had the fortune, or misfortune depending on the day, to have sat in that damn chair._

_Suddenly, he found himself in another galaxy, and he began to realize, the people were different. Maybe it was being on their own that first year, isolated and without any options. Or maybe he'd just spent most of his life around the wrong sort, short of those he'd cared about only to lose them in the skies above Afghanistan. Dex and Mitch would've fit in good with Lorne and Ronon. Anyway, whatever it was, John had had to start changing his opinions, and that wasn't an easy thing to do. He still maintained that God had washed his hands of him a long time ago, and John's brush with death had at least given him hope that he wouldn't be burning for eternity when his body did finally give out. Eternal burning or nothingness; not a hard choice there. It was the little things like that, things like being trusted, forgiven, and believed in, even when the chips were down and you looked like you'd made the wrong call, again._

_He found himself beginning to care. To trust. To even give a little... okay, a lot. _

_McMurdo had been cold and lonely and Atlantis was…Atlantis was the long lost friend come to visit, the warmth of the sun on your back as you rode the surf, the bright flame in the window, beckoning you home when you'd been kept too long and were trudging through the snow in the blackness of a cold moonless night. And Elizabeth, Teyla, Carson, Radek, Ronon, and yeah, even Rodney, they were the ones waiting inside to welcome you home. The ones that were happy to see you, glad that you'd made it back alive._

_They'd turned John's world upside down. He'd thought he'd limp through the rest of his life without anyone to grow close to again. Hell, he didn't want to get close to anyone anymore. Dead friends, a failed marriage, and an estranged parent – what was left for him on Earth? _

_He'd been prepared to die a long time ago, from the moment Holland had died and he'd been captured. From the moment he'd agreed to go to Atlantis; he'd figured he was living on borrowed time way before then and anyway, traveling through wormholes and fighting alien vampires, it was like taking a number from the Grim Reaper. You'd be sure to get your turn, it just depended on how fast the line was going as to when it was called._

_Irony was a real bitch, though. That just when death came knocking, and John knew he meant business this time, he didn't want to go. He tossed his number into the fire and pointed the barrel of his P90 into Mr. Reaper's face and growled, "Find someone else."_

_Too bad Mr. Reaper didn't listen or play well with others._

OoO

Sheppard came to for a second time, choking and coughing. "Crap," he whined. He also blinked, his eyes stinging and tearing from the smoke. He was on the ground. Or, at least, he thought he was. As information slowly trickled from his limbs to his brain, John qualified the "on the ground" to "mostly on the ground" and he also realized he was alone.

Panic shot through him, adrenaline temporarily dampening the throbbing ache in his leg. "Rodney?" he hissed. He had to fight against the urge to shout; if there were anyone nearby that shouldn't hear him, he didn't want to give his position away. And speaking of position…

John _was_ lying on his back; someone had propped him against the lumpy bark of a fat tree trunk. He craned his neck and looked around; a large canopy of needles fell to the ground like a waterfall – the wide branches dragged down by gravity created a natural hollow where a person could crawl in and take shelter.

Had his team stuffed him in here because they were about to be caught? Or had they left him behind to go and get help, not able to continue carrying his deadweight?

When no one answered, he debated whether he should try calling again, or climb to his knees and go looking, or just sit back and wait. He was incredibly thirsty; his throat felt scratchy, hot and burnt. He looked around some more. No packs, no water. They'd lost most of their gear when they'd had to make a fast run after relations had taken an unexpected turn for the worse, and what they hadn't left in the village, they'd lost in the jump from the cliff into the water, including his radio. He didn't have his canteen, or a weapon. His vest was still on him. That was something.

The branches rustled and suddenly Rodney's head, followed by his torso, tumbled into the copse. His eyes narrowed on John. "You're awake."

"I think so," he replied uncertainly. He'd hate for this to be a dream…wait a minute, what was he thinking! It'd be nice if this _was_ just a nightmare, and he'd wake up on Atlantis, safe and sound in his bed, and nothing left but a remnant ache to remind him of the dream. No broken leg, no spending weeks in a cast -- assuming they got out of this alive -- and no mortal peril for him, or his team.

"Good. Maybe you'd like to actually stay --"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off in a yelp as Rodney moved wrong. The color suddenly drained from his face and his eyes pressed shut against obvious pain.

"Rodney," John called. "Hey, you okay?"

Rodney took a shallow breath, opened his eyes and swallowed. Then after a few moments of steadying himself, he shuffled, bent over, toward the tree and John, and took another breath. He shook his head as he flopped to the ground next to John. "Do I look like it?" he snapped, waspishly.

"No," John grated. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked." He often forgot how cranky Rodney could get when he got hurt. Crankier than John, and that was saying a lot. "Forget it, where's Ronon and Teyla?"

Rodney closed his eyes and took another shallow, panting breath. "Oh, God, that _hurts_."

"Rodney!"

"Okay, okay." He rolled his head tiredly against the tree, grayish-brown bark chipping off as he moved and clinging in his hair. "I just waved them goodbye, told them we'd keep the home fires burning." He smiled crookedly. John glared. "Fine, fine. No more jokes. The villagers from hell managed to start fires all up and down the river. The good news, it's not spreading fast. No wind to help it along."

John tensed. "And the bad?"

"Who said there's bad?" Rodney replied evasively.

"There's always bad." He took a page out of Rodney's book and let his head fall back against the thick trunk. The pain in his leg just... Wasn't. Letting. Up. _God_.

Rodney sighed. "Of course," he agreed. "There's always bad. And you couldn't just let it go. It's not enough that your leg is twice the size as normal, you look like death warmed over and I feel like the same --"

"Just _tell me_, Rodney. I don't need the reminder." His leg wasn't given him the chance to forget.

"We're surrounded. East is blocked by cliffs, the river's west with very bad people, and north and south is burning. Teyla and Ronon just left to search the cliffs; we found this hidey hole before we came up against a sheer mountain side that, by the way, has nothing on El Capitan, and Teyla suggested we wait here while they look for any kind of cave, or crevasse through, seeing how both Ronon and Teyla are relatively mobile and we're not. The tree will keep us hidden if any villagers come looking."

"Why didn't you wake me up? I could've helped look." Did he mention how badly he hated being a dead weight to his team? A liability? A stone around the neck?

Rodney gasped a little as he moved to face John, irritation bunching his forehead. "I don't know if you've noticed," he said in that tone he reserved for when you just weren't getting the obvious, "but you're not exactly feeling well."

"I noticed," John replied dryly. "But thanks." It didn't make him feel any better, though, knowing Teyla and Ronon were out there risking their lives to save his. John knew if it weren't for him, they would've stayed together. Splitting up was never a good idea.

The smoke was growing thicker and suddenly Rodney choked on a cough and then chanted, "Ow, ow, ow," through another.

"If they're not back soon, we need to go." He hated to point out the obvious, but anything can happen, and John wasn't going to lie here waiting to suffocate or burn to death. "How close is the nearest fire?"

Rodney covered his mouth and tried to stifle another round of coughing. "Close," he choked. "And apparently getting closer."

"Rodney…" John felt a pit of dread grow heavier in his gut.

"What?"

"You're bleeding." Blood flecks were visible on Rodney's lower lip…_crap_.

Like someone had just told him he had a milk mustache or something, Rodney shook his head, his mind slowly figuring out what was going on, then he wiped and stared for himself, seeing the smear of red against his palm. "I'm bleeding?" He thought about it a moment more and said, stronger and more anxious, "Oh my God, I'm _bleeding_. I'm gonna die."

"No one is gonna die," John retorted, angrily. "We're going to get out of this." _Geez-us_, now he sounded like Elizabeth, and if that wasn't a sign that everything was getting desperate, John didn't know what was.

"Yeah," Rodney argued, "tell that to the man with internal bleeding!"

"Rodney, calm down."

"No! I'm sick of this! It's not bad enough that your leg is broken and bone is sticking out and bleeding and…" Rodney trailed off when he saw John's face grow two shades paler and John suddenly looked down at the bandaged and splinted leg. When he'd first looked, John's clothes had been wet and torn down where Rodney had done his bandaging. Now, he could see the dry patches that were darker than the rest of his pants, and a deep red stain was starting to discolor the white bandage that wrapped around the center of his pain.

It'd hurt like hell, and it'd kept on hurting at an awful degree of pain; John had known something wasn't right. He'd thought about all the injuries he'd had before and nothing came close to this pain, except that whole Wraith feeding thing – _shudder_ – but a compound fracture, and in these circumstances, _oh crap_, no wonder Rodney had looked so worried and Ronon had tried to lift him so carefully and no wonder the pain had been so incredible that he'd promptly passed out again.

Compound fractures were _bad_. Infection, blood loss… "Why didn't you tell me it was that bad?"

Rodney looked at him, guilty and a little pissed. "You already looked awful and I didn't want you to realize just how bad it was, okay? You would've carried on, insisting we leave you behind, and I'm sorry, but that is _not_ going to happen."

"You're right, I would've." John had to swallow back the fear even now, and like he'd said before, he wasn't even all that scared to die. But compound fractures… Infection was a huge deal, and every minute that went by without him getting treatment, was another minute pushing him into an early grave. And even if he _did_ live through this, healing time was gonna be a bitch. They'd probably try and send him back to Earth.

Damn it!

"This sucks," he said, throwing a filthy look at the canopy of pine needles in front of him.

"A bit of an under-stater, aren't you," Rodney hmmmed, choked again and tried to breathe through the thicker wisps of gray smoke that curled in through miniscule spaces between the branches.

At least Ronon and Teyla so far seemed to have survived unscathed. Now the problem would be convincing them to go if that's what it came down to. John knew it'd be an argument he'd probably lose, but he'd have to try. Dying together was a nice sentiment, but he'd haunt them for eternity, regardless of what came in the thereafter, if they let themselves die needlessly because of him.

They grew quiet then. Rodney was preoccupied trying to breathe, shallow enough to avoid as much pain as he could. John tried to keep from looking at his leg. The break was low, down on his left tibia. That was good; the bone in his lower leg was smaller than if it'd been up higher. _Less blood loss, or something_, he thought, trying to remember what they'd learned in First Aid and Buddy Care class.

The problem was the pain. If he even moved a little, it increased ten-fold. In the moments between, it just steadily thrummed and burned and made him feel sick. It was an awful injury, and he knew it. He'd tried to hit the water at a safe angle, tried to keep his body stiff so something like this didn't happen, but when you're in free fall, you can't always correctly anticipate the moment of impact.

He thought it was kind of ironic that his leg burned, a constant source of fiery agony, while the forest around them was slowly going up in flames. It _was_ ironic, wasn't it? Or was the pain making him so delirious that he was indulging in morbid humor?

When his vision got even hazier, John thought he was drifting. Until he choked and realized it was because of how much smoke had seeped into their shelter. He looked over at Rodney, surprised to realize his buddy had passed out. He rolled at his hips and shook McKay, a little frantic at first. "Rodney! Hey, wake up! We've got to get out of here!"

John knew he wasn't going to be able to make it, at least not very far. His body felt encased in lead, weighed down and numb, and it was all he could do to even think straight anymore. The smoke, the compound fracture that was burning him from the inside out. But Rodney still had a chance.

A low moan rose from Rodney's lips and he blinked sluggishly. "She'prd?"

"Yeah, Rodney. You've got to wake up, get out of here. The smoke's getting too thick; you won't be able to breathe much longer."

Rodney groaned some more before managing to get on his hands and knees. He was moving in a fog, not quite with it, but knowing he had to go, because John told him so. Good, maybe if Rodney could get to Ronon and Teyla…

"How're you going to walk?" Rodney mumbled.

"I'll drag myself, right behind you," John assured him softly. "Just get going."

"Good, good."

John could tell that Rodney was barely aware of anything. His shallow breathing had made him more susceptible to the smoke and the lack of oxygen. He crawled ahead of John, panting and choking, toward the canopy surrounding them. The copse was filling up fast, all the breathable air disappearing under the onslaught of smoke.

John thought about staying here. Just letting asphyxiation take him so his team wouldn't sacrifice their lives trying to save his, but he wasn't quite that accepting. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it, but not trying went against every instinct in his body. He'd convinced Rodney to go, that was the big thing. He'd at least try to follow.

He tried to lever himself up enough to flip onto his stomach. That way he could pull his body along. It took a few tries and it left him breathing hard, panting against the bed of dried and yellowed needles, his face so close that he could smell the mustiness from the ground.

Rodney had managed to get through the branches. Now, it was John's turn. "Just keep going, back toward the cliffs, Rodney," he choked.

He'd wanted to say river because it was the only place safe from the fire, but Ronon and Teyla were at the cliffs. If it was time to give up, to head back toward the water, well, Teyla at least would see that Rodney got there. Ronon just might stay back and burn with John, if it came down to it. John knew the runner was dead serious that he'd rather die then be captured by the Wraith again.

John didn't really blame him.

Have you ever felt pain that overwhelmed every single sense you had? Pain so great and overpowering that you stopped being able to hear or see, or even think? That was the kind of pain John felt now. Once he started to move, the fire in his leg stole his eyesight away, his hearing, his sense of touch or smell. He only knew that he felt like he was dying. This, _this_ was like when the Iratus bug had latched on, except then it'd quickly given way to paralysis. Now, he wasn't granted any such relief. It was so God-awful overwhelming, but somewhere inside, he just kept pushing his hands forward, and then blindly pulling his body forward, then he'd collapse, pant and moan, before doing it all over again.

He thought he might've made it through the branches. He thought someone grabbed him, but he wasn't sure. Things had grown dimmer, darker, and he heard the crackling of fire burning close by. Too close.

The air was hot in his lungs and each breath made him cough and choke. He turned his head, trying to get away from it.

"John, we're here," Teyla soothed. "We found shelter. We found a cave where we'll be safe from the fires."

Then, Ronon tightened his hands around him and said urgently, "Hold on, Sheppard."

"Rodney." John hated how weak he sounded.

"I have him," Teyla answered softly. "You're both going to be fine."

John nodded against Ronon's chest. Fine, they'd be fine. They'd hide in the caves and let the fire burn and then they'd get to the 'gate, and back to Atlantis, and Carson would fix Rodney and fix John's leg and fix the burning that seemed to be eating him alive.

With a final moan, John let go, _again_.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Thanks again, guys. Like I said, this lack of a plot really does bother me, but this turned very much into a 'what makes Sheppard tick' short answer to the challenge. I'm glad that you all are enjoying that, as it's always a bit nerve-wracking to dig into the character's thoughts. Look for part 4 tomorrow, I'd really hoped to get it done today but I've got kids and dinner and real life stuff the rest of today (yay yard work and car got done!)

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**Smouldering**

_Life and death. The universal yin and yang – everything that lives, dies. Opposing forces and from the moment you were born, you were dying. Some had days, some had years, and some would live a century or more. John hadn't thought much about growing old. He'd never really believed he'd make it. For all that he considered himself an optimist, he was also a realist. The kind of life he led wasn't exactly conducive to dying in your bed of old age. _

_But knowing you're going to die young and actually doing it are two different things. He'd survived too many times to pretend otherwise. He'd said he wasn't scared of dying, and that wasn't a lie. It wasn't even an exaggeration. Everything that lives, dies. His time would come and he'd be damned if he'd go down scared._

_But John had never said he'd leave without regrets. Without wishing he'd done more, or did something different, or said something else. He'd go to his grave wishing he'd taken that mission over Kabul rather than his friends. He'd always regret not being able to save Holland. For touching the locket and shooting Sumner. For not being able to save Abrams and Gall and Ford. For not being able to save Ellia and having to shoot her like she was a rabid animal, for losing control while he mutated from the retrovirus. For not being fast enough or strong enough when people needed him most. When his team needed him most._

_He'd reconciled with death, but he'd never reconciled with being the cause of it. _

OoO

"Shhhh, John, we are not dead yet," soothed Teyla.

He blinked sluggishly. "It's dark." He couldn't see anything but vague shadows. _And it's cold_, he thought, shivering. Or was that just him?

"That's because we're in a mountain," Rodney said derisively.

"Rodney?" John knew there was something about his buddy that should be worrying him. Something… "You okay?"

"If dying is okay, then I'm fantastic."

"You're not dying, McKay," Ronon interjected gruffly.

John heard the sound of rustling and a rock kicked against a wall. Then one of the shapes moved near and a flash of light sparked into the blackness. It disappeared in less than a second and Ronon swore under his breath. "This isn't working," he growled.

More rustling, then Rodney grouched, "Of course it's not, the sticks are too large and I told you using scraps of our cloth wouldn't work. They're flame retardant. Besides, in case you hadn't noticed, there's an appallingly large source of fire where we just came from. Incredible that you were too short-sighted to think even moments ahead and drop a flaming branch down ahead of us."

"Rodney, that is not fair." Teyla's voice was above John and full of gentle reproach. He was surprised to realize his head was pillowed in her lap. Information was slowly being processed through the fog he seemed to be in. His leg was hot but the pain wasn't so bad now, and that worried him more than anything. "Getting you and Colonel Sheppard to safety was our priority. Yes, we should have thought farther ahead, but we did not, and berating us now for it will not help anyone. You should not move." Teyla's legs shifted underneath John's head as she leaned over and scolded Rodney. "Lie still."

If they needed a fire, John was sure he could just breathe on the sticks and they'd combust. His leg -- his entire body -- felt like it was burning up. Why was he so hot?

"Can't you just go out and get a burning stick?" John whispered. He was so thirsty – his tongue felt practically glued to the roof of his mouth.

"We dropped into an underground cavern, John. We came in through the roof; years ago it must have collapsed, from storms or erosion. The hole is small and too far to climb out of without help. Getting you and Rodney down without further injury was…difficult." She ran a soft, gentle hand through his hair, and John almost sighed from the heavenly feel. "Ronon cannot carry or lift anymore and I am not tall enough to reach by myself."

"What's wrong with Ronon?" John wanted to get up, to put his team back together and lead them out of this, but just lifting his head took too much effort. Crap, what the hell was wrong with him? Why was he so out of it now? It was hard just to think straight.

"Dislocated my shoulder getting you down here. It'll heal." Ronon struck metal against rock and sparks lit up the cave again. This time, John caught sight of the runner. He was hunched over, a rock clenched low between his knees next to a stick, one end wrapped in scraps of cloth. His left arm hung at an odd angle even while the other brandished one of his many knives. Rodney was next to John, propped against Teyla's other side.

"If we live," Rodney muttered. "Some of us have a countdown clock hanging over their heads."

"I'm not letting you or Sheppard die, so just shut up, McKay." He swiped the blade against the rock again, harder and more violent, and more sparks showered around Ronon's legs.

John could almost see the ferocious glare on Ronon's face as he said it.

He wanted to ask for water. Wanted it more than he'd wanted anything before. But he had a hunch if they'd had any water, it would've been offered to him before now. He shifted restlessly against Teyla.

His leg felt heavy, swollen, and pathetically numb and painful at the same time. He was hot. He could feel the cold from the rock under him seeping through his t-shirt… His vest? "What happened to my vest?"

"Rodney suggested we take it off and let the coolness of the cave work against your fever." Teyla frowned over him, her face illuminated briefly in another round of sparks. "I am sorry, John. We do not have anything left to give you that can ease your pain or your fever. We lost what remaining supplies we had in getting you both here. The fire moved faster than we believed it would."

"Are we safe?" He meant from the villagers and hoped she got that, because he didn't have the energy to say much else; the fire couldn't burn through rock and he felt fresh air blowing across his face, so there was a supply coming from somewhere, untainted by the smoke from the fires.

"At least until the fires die," Rodney replied. He coughed and cried out. Then Teyla was soothing Rodney, whispering for him to breathe shallowly and to stay still. John listened to her and to Rodney's struggles against his own apparent pain – what'd happened to him?

John closed his eyes and saw blood. Blood on Rodney's lips… he remembered telling Rodney that he was bleeding – "How'd it happen?" he asked.

"How'd what happen?" Ronon asked. He also dropped his knife, angry. "This isn't gonna work. We'll have to make do without any light."

"I already told you that," wheezed Rodney. Then he rolled his face toward John. "When I hit the water…" He struggled to breathe without inhaling too deep. "I did a belly flop. It broke some ribs, and obviously something else important."

John choked on a laugh. "You're dying because you're clumsy?"

"Look who's talking! All you had to do was hit without being a noodle and your leg would've been fine, but no, Mr. I'm-In-Control- Always Sheppard, couldn't even avoid having his leg snapped like a twig! Besides, I was still groggy from being stunned, what's your excuse?"

"Sorry," gasped John. "But a _belly flop_?" He tried to stop laughing and it wasn't even a good laugh, it sounded as sick as he felt, but holy crap, "Here lies Rodney McKay; sad victim of the first fatal belly flop."

Rodney spluttered angrily for a moment, before it turned into a painful snort. "We _suck_ at the Butch and Sundance thing. No one's gonna hire us. We'll need to start taking stunt doubles on missions."

_If we make it out of this alive._

John shivered. Where was his vest? "I'm cold," he complained. And his butt hurt from lying down on the hard, rock floor of the cave.

"I know," Teyla said softly. "But you have a high fever. You have to be strong, John."

He heard the strain suddenly in her voice. Her muscles tensed under his head and he blinked tiredly at her face. His eyes had slowly adjusted and he could almost see her clearly. There was strength to be had in that face, and John needed it now more than ever.

"I know," he said gravely. They were counting on him. It was his fault they were stuck in this cave. If he hadn't broken his leg, they could've backtracked to the Stargate and gotten out of here long ago. Rodney wouldn't be lying next to him, slowly bleeding to death inside his gut, and Ronon wouldn't be sitting next to him with a dislocated shoulder, angry at being helpless. And Teyla wouldn't be comforting him while he died.

Because John felt death. He really did. Stronger now than ever.

It gripped him, hard. He'd always thought he'd go down fighting, but right now, it was all he could do to stay awake. To not let the fever drag him back down to blackness.

_Think, John, think_!

Ronon and Teyla weren't stupid, by any means, but they were from this galaxy. Their responses to situations were guided by what they knew – they didn't have the same perspectives that John and Rodney often brought to missions and crises. It was a team effort, and with half the team down for the count, they weren't doing so hot.

But it was becoming impossible to concentrate. The fever smouldered in his body, silently eating him from within. Stealing his thoughts and life away. He lifted a hand weakly and pointed toward the small, far-away light… It must be the hole they'd dropped through. "Find a way and get out of here." John had to try. God, he had to. He didn't want his team dying, and maybe they could get help, at least save Rodney.

"We're not leaving you," Ronon said flatly. "We did that once and the fire almost killed you."

"Ronon is right. Help will come when we fail to check in with Atlantis."

Rodney laughed bitterly. "We'll be dead before they find us."

"No, you won't." Ronon was pacing.

"What, you think saying it is going to make it true?" Rodney demanded. "Newsflash, it doesn't work like that."

John felt a wave of queasiness rush through his stomach. _My fault_. It was his worst nightmare, to be the cause of his team's death. John hadn't asked for anything… Not since Dex and Mitch and Holland. Not since he'd lost too many friends in a God-forsaken land and had been captured, beaten, and tortured by the enemy after watching the man that he'd given up everything to save, died, because he hadn't been good enough. He'd failed, Holland had died, and John became the Air Force's liability. It'd been too much; it'd pushed him over the edge, into a place where he just didn't care. No, that wasn't right. He'd still cared, he'd just buried it deep and kept it hidden under a devil-may-care attitude that hadn't been all that hard to keep up.

But now, for his team's sake, John closed his eyes, he gave up his grudge and begged. _Please…don't do this, _he pleaded to a God he'd given up on.

He prayed, shivered and sweated. John knew he was losing it. Knew something was really wrong with his body. Sometimes he heard Teyla helping Rodney breathe through the pain, then she'd turn back to him and whisper, "John?" because he'd grown still and silent and she thought he might have died when she'd looked away.

Things grew far-away and distant again, and John drifted, the last of his prayer still in his mind.

He heard Ronon and Teyla talking, then the tone grew angry, and the conversation sharpened and came into focus.

"I'm not gonna sit here and do nothing while they die!"

"If you go, you could get lost. Ronon, underground caverns can go on for distances and distances that you cannot even imagine. We had them on Athos and every few years, young children would forget the danger and try to explore, and they were not seen ever again. The village elders would say it was the Wraith, but I never believed them. The paths all look the same, it is easy to be confused; you could get lost and never find your way out. It is too dangerous!"

Ronon inhaled, frustrated. "Teyla, they're going to die if I don't. _Damn it_," he ground out. "It might already be too late."

Then their voices faded again.

When John swam up from the depths and found a rare moment of lucidity, Ronon was gone and Teyla was alone, holding him so tightly with one arm that John thought he was already dead. "Teyla?" His voice was scratchy and hoarse, and it hurt to talk.

"John?"

"Rodney?"

She shook her head. "He's unconscious. I cannot get him to wake."

Was this really it? Were they going to die in a cold cavern on an inconsequential world and an equally inconsequential mission? Die because he'd hit the water wrong and cause and effect could be an equally cold bitch?

He tried to lick his dry lips.

"I'm sorry," he rasped.

He'd lost faith in God and people a long time ago. He'd started to gain some of the latter back, but he'd been uninterested in the former. Too much baggage and too little time. He'd accepted dying easily. Hell, he'd ridden a nuke down the belly of a Hive ship with a simple, "So long, Rodney," but his team dying… _his team dying with him, because of him_… God, it hurt. It hurt more than his leg and the fever stealing his life away did. "You should've left me," he whispered. "Taken Rodney and left me."

The hand holding his shoulder tightened against his skin. She was quiet; all John heard was the soft, even rhythm of her breathing.

He'd accepted that she wasn't going to answer; when she finally did, her words were strained as she whispered fiercely, "I could never leave you, John. And I do not think Rodney would have, either."

He blinked furiously.

Yeah… he knew. _He'd known_. But he'd have given anything for them to have just been selfish for the time it took them to get the hell out of there and get to the 'gate.

"Ronon has gone for help." She stroked his hair and stared off into the darkness. "My father always said that the time of strongest faith is right before the dawn." Her smile was crooked and wry when she turned back to him. "It seems like we are often waiting for the sun to rise."

John remembered blue skies and a heavy, swollen sun climbing over the horizon – he closed his eyes and felt himself rushing towards it… Nothing but his ship and the wide open primal battle of nature and machine, banking and rising, flying at speeds approaching light…flying flying _flying_… and he smiled. "It's beautiful…"

"Teyla!"

"Ronon! Here, we are here!"

There was the sound of feet, and equipment banging against strong shoulders and legs, and then someone new and familiar knelt by him and touched his forehead with a calloused but gentle hand and breathed, "Colonel, you're a bloody mess."

"Carson," he sighed. "Save Rodney… He's dying. You can save him…"

"Aye, and you. Rest, John, we've got you…" Carson pulled away to bark orders. "Get fluids into Rodney, with internal bleeding we need to get his pressure up. Mawani, lass, get me the Rocephin, two of the single ampoules."

"How?" Teyla asked.

"Luck," Ronon answered, grinning. "It was just dumb luck; I took the right passage and kept heading right. Every time McKay ropes me into playing those shoot-em-up video games, he always says stay to the right. It led me straight to the Stargate. Weir had just sent a rescue team and they were still gauging the fires and deciding where to go look first."

"Oh, thank the Ancestors!"

Then John heard rapid orders being snapped and Lorne was leaning over him. "Hey, Major," John grinned weakly.

"Hey yourself, Sir," the major affectionately grinned back. "Nice to see you did it again; this is getting to be a bad habit."

John swallowed and nodded, and felt his eyes drifting shut. Hot…God, he was so hot. But even while he was drowning in the fever and pain, he felt himself floating. His team wasn't going to die. They weren't going to die because of him. He was floating… flying… He smiled...

"Colonel! Oh, bloody hell, get the defibrillator, we're losing him!" Someone shook his shoulder roughly. "Don't do this John, stay with us! Damn it! Charging to 300…"


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** I'm sorry this is a day late! Thanks so much for the reviews, I'm really sorry that I haven't replied to everyone yet, but you guys should know it's really incredibly appreciated and means so much. Also, if you have not read The Last Survivor, Mawani was an OC that was rescued by the expedition via John and Rodney after she rescued them. Her character will make a lot more sense if you've read that story.

**Extinction**

_When John was six, he'd flown on his first plane. A C-130. They were bigger than some airplane hangars and louder than anything John had ever heard before. Riding in the cargo bay with ear muffs that weighed more than his head, the air blowing in his face and the angry rattle of engines thrumming up into his body through the jump seat, he'd felt for the first time that he'd finally gotten life figured out._

_It wasn't about brushing his teeth, or saying "Yes, Ma'am" and "Yes, Sir!" or trying to print his name with perfection. It wasn't Saturday morning cartoons that, while fun, were boring after a while. It wasn't riding his bike down the steepest hill he could find – though that had been damn close -- it was about the rush of flying at speeds greater than you could ever accomplish outside of things with wings. The only experience he'd ever imagined that could make him feel like that plane had, was standing on top of a mountain, and jumping. And C-130's don't even fly all that fast._

_When he was ten, he got to ride in an F4 phantom. It went fast as hell, the helmet was too big, and he breathed too fast. He also threw up, but John was pretty sure the pilot went out of his way to make him sick. After all, he was the general's son, and it was tradition to make VIP passengers puke. That night he promised his mom, "I know what I'm going to do when I grow up." _

_She'd smiled indulgently and asked, "What is that, John?"_

"_A pilot," he'd replied with the utter confidence of the young._

_She'd smiled a little tighter, but tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. She'd whispered, "You can be anything you want to John. Just never forget who you are, here," and she tapped him on the chest._

_He'd grown up, he'd become a pilot, and his mom had died. _

_And maybe, he'd forgotten a part of himself along the way. Or maybe the parts had been stripped from him, piece by piece. His mom dying. His falling out with his dad. Mitch and Dex. His failed marriage when he'd returned home from Afghanistan, escorting flag-draped coffins, and he hadn't been able to get past what he'd left behind in the skies over Kabul. Then, returning to Afghanistan for a second tour, because he'd had some kind of idea that if he went back, maybe he could make peace with what'd happened, and instead, he'd gone against orders, got shot down in the process, and still screwed up. That time Holland had died and he'd came damn close himself._

_Mom, Mitch, Dex, Holland, Sumner, Gall, Abrams, Ford… _

_He'd lost his faith first, then he'd shut everyone out. You get burned one too many times, you learn to keep your hands out of the fire. _

_And it had taken coming to Atlantis to learn all over again that sometimes the risk of getting burnt was worth taking, even if it hurt like hell._

_Rodney, Carson, Elizabeth, Teyla, Ronon, Radek._

_He'd been wrong. He'd thought life had no meaning. That it was just a cosmic game and if you won or lost, it was luck, chance, fortune or misfortune. You live, you die, and all the time between was just the struggle to get through, and what kind of meaning is that?_

_But it was the people. It was your friends. It was experiences. It was flying in a C-130, and riding down the steepest hill on his bike. It was walking through a wormhole for the first time, and a man he'd only known less than a year facing down a Wraith with just his pistol and his nerve to save your life. _

_Life didn't have meaning by itself. It just was. Meaning came from the acts of living, and even if you only lived one minute, or a hundred years, there were others that were affected by you, and their lives were changed because of you. The people he cared about gave his life meaning – he hadn't wanted to die without making a difference. _

_He hadn't wanted to die without his life having meant something. _

_But he realized now that he'd found meaning; that he'd had it all along. It was in Rodney's crooked grin of discovery, and Elizabeth's soft patient smile. It was in Teyla's touch and Ronon's hug and Carson's laugh. And even better, he'd gotten to show Radek that he really could be the hero._

_And he'd had it sharing beers with Mitch and Dex, his mom bandaging his scraped knee and kissing him goodnight, or watching football games and eating popcorn, and even standing at their grave sites and telling the mourning crowd, "They were friends, sons and soldiers. They lived, and died, doing what they loved most."_

OoO

He'd never expected to wake up after Ford touched the paddles to his skin and sent his mind spiraling away into nothingness. He had, of course, though it'd been a little slow and a lot painful. He'd blinked away lethargy that had wanted to turn his bones to liquid and stared up at the concerned face of Carson. It'd been his first time as one of Carson's patients, and John had appreciated the soft, "How d'you feel, Major?" Carson hadn't boomed the question, and every movement he'd made was slow and gentle, which helped John's headache more than words could say.

The Iratus bug had left him tired, sore and a little scared. He'd tried to put on a strong face, but during the night when he'd had his first nightmare of a Jumper filled with the chittering bugs, all climbing over him and another one biting into his neck, he'd woken to find Carson kindly shaking his shoulder, whispering, "It's a bit of a nightmare, Major, shhhhhh." When John had been about to deny any such thing, the doc had ignored him and continued without giving him a chance, "Go back to sleep. Those bugs won't get a bite of you in my infirmary, I promise." Then Carson had settled into a chair nearby and started reading something on his PC tablet.

John had rasped, "You don't have to stay, Doc. I'm okay."

Carson had kept his eyes on his screen but murmured, "I'm sure you are, Major. Now, go back to sleep."

He had, and he hadn't had anymore nightmares, but John was also pretty sure that Carson had topped his IV with something, too.

And waking up now was like that all over again. He was tired, sore and a little scared, because he hadn't thought he'd wake up ever again. It wasn't that he was scared to die – been through that a few times now – it was that he'd been somewhere else and then suddenly he was back here, all the pain rushing back into his body and someone holding tightly to his hand, ordering him to wake up and stop scaring everyone.

He blinked sluggishly, but all he got for the effort was blurry shapes.

An oxygen mask covered his mouth so even if he'd had enough energy to talk, it wouldn't have been heard.

The hand holding his was soft, smaller… _Teyla or Elizabeth_? He couldn't talk, but he thought maybe he could squeeze his fingers to theirs, try to grip their hand back, something to show them that he hadn't meant to scare anyone and that he was going to be okay. He gave up in keeping his eyes open, and shifted his energy into his hand. Into his fingers. _Just a little_, he thought.

"John?" The hand holding his tightened and tugged as he heard the scrape of a chair against the floor. "Carson! He squeezed my hand… Carson!"

He thought he might've grayed out because time fast-forwarded to a lower voice, _Carson_, urging him, "Colonel, open your eyes for me. Just a wee bit, John, then you can go back to sleep."

Open his eyes… John breathed deep and concentrated as hard as he could. He tried. At first, he just got his eyes to move underneath his eyelids. And then, after a couple more attempts, he cracked them enough to see light. It was just too hard and he was too tired. He couldn't get his body to listen to him.

"That's fine, Colonel. That's good enough. You're in there and that's all we needed to know. Rest some more." Another gentle hand gripped his shoulder for a moment before letting go. John thought he managed a small nod before he let the lethargy pull him back down.

OoO

Time passes differently in the infirmary. Days feel like hours and hours feel like moments. One minute you're awake, then you drift away, only to wake and realize you've lost a big chunk of time, again.

John had a nebulous grasp on lucidity at best. He wavered in and out over the following days. Carson had explained at one point that he had gotten an infection, and it'd gotten into his bone, so he'd be on IV antibiotics and surgery was in his future. They'd had to stabilize him first, treat the infection.

He'd seen Rodney, sleeping in the bed near him. He'd suffered four broken ribs, a punctured lung and internal injuries. Bruised liver and a spleen that was apparently not cooperating in healing. On the third day – least, John thought it was the third since he'd woken – Rodney crashed during the night. John had been in the twilight state – not quite asleep but not quite awake – when alarms started screaming.

Infirmary personnel had come running. John had tried to surface but he was still on a lot of drugs and he couldn't. There was a chemical wall blocking his way, keeping him down, and though inside he fought against it, nothing he did worked. He heard the shout for a crash cart, heard Carson snapping orders to prep Rodney for emergency surgery. He'd managed to finally get his eyes to start blinking, to start trying to open and stay that way, but all he got for his effort was more blurry shapes moving around the room. The oxygen mask that had been helping him breathe felt confining and John could hear another monitor speeding up.

_Rodney!_

He couldn't die now, not after John was sure his team was safe.

"Colonel, calm down," Carson ordered softly. "Rodney's going to be fine, he's going to be one spleen lighter shortly, but that'll fix his troubles right up. And he wouldn't want you getting in a snit and needing to be intubated." Hands rubbed his shoulders and Carson told him, "That's it, Colonel, slow it down… breathe." The hands pulled away. "Teyla, love, thank goodness. I've got to go, Rodney's had a set back, and the colonel is aware just enough to get worried and upset. Stay with him, keep him calm, or he'll need to be sedated and I'd rather not go there. See this number? That's his pulse ox, it needs to stay above 85, though I'd prefer it at least 90."

"Is Rodney going to be all right, Carson?" Teyla asked, worriedly. Hands returned to John's shoulder and arm, rubbing softly, and he recognized the touch as hers.

"Aye, I think so, but it's time to quit babying that spleen of his. It just won't cooperate and we've given it enough time to heal. I'll have a nurse update you when I know more."

"Thank you, Carson."

John tried to wake up. But he tried to keep his breathing even and slow, because he didn't want to be sedated and he didn't want to be intubated, either. Teyla's hand kept rubbing and she whispered, "Shhhhh, rest John. Rodney is in good hands. He will be fine."

Then time jumped again.

When he woke next, he didn't have the mask; the curtain was pulled around his bed, and Mawani was bathing his arms. He blinked a couple of times, relieved when focus returned and he could see her clearly.

"Hey," he whispered.

She looked up, a broad smile spreading across her face. "John, you wake; it is good. Sleeping for days will make your limbs useless," she teased.

"Déjà vu," he said.

Her brow wrinkled, even while she dipped the cloth into the warm bowl of water and wrung it free of the excess. "What is this word, déjà vu?"

"It means I have the strange feeling I've been here before." She'd cared for him, bathed him, and he felt a little odd being back in that position, where she was giving him sponge baths. She'd laughed then, back in her small home, and said he'd had nothing she hadn't seen before, and she'd said the same to Rodney.

Her smile trembled. "That is because you have. And I do not think I have to say you will be the death of us all, worrying. You risk too much, John." She moved to the other side of his bed and pulled his left arm free of the blankets. It was the arm with the IV and John followed the line of tubing up, surprised to see three bags. "Did you know that my first medical mission was to rescue you and sky eyes?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "It was… déjà vu."

He tried to return her light mood, but her words hurt. _Death of us all_… something she just said casually, but she had no idea. He'd almost cost his team their lives and the fact that the only thing that saved them was luck just made it worse. Next time they might not be so _lucky_. He'd just have to make damn sure there wasn't a 'next time.' "Yeah, I promise it won't happen again." It came out flat. She narrowed her eyes at him and he rushed to explain, not even sure why he was saying it, admitting these things. Maybe it was the drugs. Or maybe it was because he was sick of keeping it all bottled up inside and Mawani wasn't his team, or Elizabeth, or his dad. "My team almost _died_ because of me. If they hadn't stayed, they could've easily escaped and Rodney would've gotten help way before he did. Ronon could've gotten lost, died of dehydration…" He was kinda surprised by how angry he was over it.

Her eyes grew serious and her hand stilled. "Do not promise what you cannot keep, John." She put the cloth into the bowl and sat on the edge of his bed, lifting his hand, taking care not to jar the needle taped to the back as it delivered medicine and fluids to his body. "You are the sun and the moon. You bring light and you bring darkness, but those that love and care for you understand this. They would not ask you to change. Would you ask sky eyes to turn his back on what he does, to keep him safe, like a baby swaddled against her mother's chest?"

"Mawani, it's not like that --"

She touched John's cheek with her other hand. "It is. I have known you for a brief time in the ages of all things, but I know this. You are a good spirit, a kind spirit. You act to help; you do what you must to save those around you. Our lives are but a small drop in time, and there is joy and pain that will come into everyone's days. If you would give your life willingly for others, do you not understand how they would do the same for you? Do you not think that a life lived true to the soul is a life lived well, no matter how short?"

John frowned at her and she smiled again, sadly. She let go of his hand and leaned forward, placing a light kiss on his forehead. "You are much more than you know, my dark haired one. You came into my life and you saved me, returning my memories and my heart. I am here now because you are who you are, and sky eyes is who he is." She stood and gathered up the bowl, looking down on him warmly. "Linger on those thoughts and remember the good you have done." Then the teasing smile was back. "Now, I am going to bathe sky eyes and he is far grumpier than you. He is as cranky as an old gnarl today."

She disappeared through the curtain, leaving it pulled around his bed. He heard her moving around on the other side, then the sharp sound of Rodney's surprised yelp.

The conversation had left him exhausted. He wasn't feeling a whole lot of pain yet. The ache was there, but Carson was still keeping him mostly pain-free, and that was beginning to worry him too. What was it going to be like when the drugs started to go?

He wanted to think that Mawani was just naïve. That she had no idea how things really worked, but he couldn't shake off the truth of what she'd said. He was so busy thinking about what he cost his team that he'd never considered the reverse. They'd risked their lives going after Ronon. John had almost died for Rodney, refusing to leave Doranda without him. He'd gone back with Rodney because he'd had a niggle clawing in his gut, telling him it was important. If it'd been anyone else, Rodney wouldn't have listened. He wouldn't have left. And he would've been blown up along with the planet and part of the solar system. Gall had ended his life, whatever he had left, so that Rodney could go save John.

John wasn't alone in being a liability. They all took their turns. But John had judged himself harshly because he was the one that had failed. He was the one that had lost too much before, and he'd blamed himself then as he did now.

The curtain was pushed aside and Carson came in, bearing a hypodermic filled with something. John looked at him then the object in his hand, a question in his eyes.

Carson smiled reassuringly. "It's time to get that leg pinned, Colonel. The infection's cleared and we can't wait any longer. It's already going to be a mess, I'm afraid."

"This is gonna hurt, isn't it?" John swallowed, trying to hide the nervousness he felt.

"Not at first, not much more than what you're in now, but when we start weaning you off the drugs, aye, I'm afraid so. You'll not feel up for polite conversation." Carson pulled the tubing towards him, wiping the port with an alcohol wipe.

"Wait," John said. "My team --" He wanted to see them.

"John --"

"Please," he rushed, trying not to sound too pathetic, but enough to hopefully get what he wanted. This was his first real bout of awareness that he'd had. He could talk and be heard and soon, he was going to be back at square one, or just about. He had to let his team know how thankful he was for what they'd risked for him. John needed to let them know.

Carson frowned, but pulled his hand back. "All right, I'll get them. But Rodney's still in bed from his surgery last night, so it'll be a matter of talking across the space between you."

John nodded soberly. "That's fine."

He must've dozed for a bit because Teyla was shaking his shoulder gently and he blinked his eyes open to see Ronon staring at him, a sling encasing his arm and right shoulder.

"You okay?" the runner asked gruffly.

"Yeah." At Teyla's eyebrow rising in that "oh, really" way that she had, John grimaced and rolled his eyes a little. "I will be," he corrected grimly. "Thanks to you."

Ronon shrugged. "Just returning the favor."

The talk he'd had with Mawani stuck in his thoughts. His impulse had been to say Ronon shouldn't have, that John wasn't keeping score, but staring at Ronon, he could see that Ronon wasn't keeping score, either. That he was doing for John just as John would do for him. Being there. Helping. Risking his life for those he cared about.

Friends…family. You didn't get the luxury of telling them when not to care.

He nodded, his head moving ineffectually on the pillow. Then he turned towards Rodney. "You hanging in there, McKay?"

The curtain had been pulled open between them, and John could see the IV delivering blood and fluids into Rodney's body. He was covered in a sheet, but his legs were exposed, dressed in surgical stockings to prevent blood clots. John knew he was going to soon be wearing his own pair, at least on one leg. The other was going to be bandaged and elevated and a source of a lot of pain in his future. It was that thought that kept him from teasing Rodney about his new look. Saying something like, _are you trying to give Superman a run for his money._

"Not m'ch choice," slurred Rodney, fighting to keep his eyes open. "C'rs'n…su…sucks." Rodney blinked more until his eyes finally stayed shut, ignoring what he wanted. "Did th's … to me."

Teyla made a sympathetic sound and left John's side to touch Rodney's forehead softly and to gather his hand in hers. "Only to save your life, Rodney. You will feel better soon, I promise."

Blue showed underneath barely cracked eyelids. "B'tter," he grumped. He craned his head to see John through his squinted vision. "Don't…die…ag'n." Then he rolled back and gave up his battle at staying awake.

John snorted softly. "Okay, Rodney. I won't."

"You will," Ronon said simply, cutting to the heart of the matter. "And so will McKay, probably Teyla and me. It's what we do." The runner leaned against the wall, looking unconcerned, but not quite hiding how careful he was with his shoulder. "The way I look at it, we're gonna be there to pick each other up." He looked thoughtful before pointing out, "But you need to work on your jumping skills."

"Ronon," Teyla scolded. She still held Rodney's hand but she looked at John. "You are not," she said severely, "to jump off any cliffs anytime in the near future."

"That's okay." John figured he'd already jumped off the biggest cliff, and it was his team that had stopped his fall. He wondered if they even knew it.

"Are you ready, Colonel?" Carson entered from behind the other side of the curtain, already dressed in his surgical scrubs. "It's time to take that final step and get you on the road to recovery."

"You're trying to make this sound like a good thing." John wasn't buying it.

Carson smiled, his eyes crinkling. He patted John's uninjured leg. "Aye, it is. Trust me."

John breathed deep and looked around at his team and Carson. He smiled crookedly. "Yeah…I can do that."

Then Carson was injecting the sedative into John's IV port and seconds later he felt drowsy and numb and then the curtain was being pushed up against the wall, his bed was being wheeled away and Ronon called, "We'll be here, Sheppard," and Teyla, "You will be fine, John." Rodney roused enough from the commotion to demand, "Where's he taking Sheppard?" Then John's hold on awareness was gone once more.

OoO

The surgery went well, or so Carson told him. John surfaced a little in recovery, enough to get sick from the anesthesia. Then they gave him more drugs and he fell back into a hazy not-quite sleep. He knew people were around him, he felt hands shifting him, felt the soft tug against his IV. There were murmurs at times, and then finally, he was able to swim up from the cottony netherland, a hard ache down low refusing to let him remain asleep any longer.

He was thirsty and his leg was hurting worse than it had since they'd been rescued. He was surprised to see Rodney standing next to his bed. It was dark in the infirmary, the lights dimmed, so John figured it must be night. "Hey," he rasped. "What're you doing up?"

"Bathroom," Rodney replied wearily. "The catheter finally came out a few hours ago." Rodney did a mental shudder and he met John's eyes sympathetically because John with his bad leg and recent surgery was still in the cath club. On the upside, the pain from his leg that had driven him back into consciousness, kind of overrode something as little as a tube up his penis. And that was something he never thought he'd be thankful for.

"Bed pan, McKay," John said, because he knew Rodney had no business walking around without a nurse escort.

Rodney scowled, pushing a hand against his bandages, stark white and clean against his naked torso. All Rodney wore was a pair of scrub bottoms, loose and low over his hips. Now that he'd satisfied himself with John, he turned away and shuffled slowly until he reached the edge of his bed; then he half bent, half rolled, half _fell_, back onto his gurney, groaning. "I hate this part," he swore.

John made a face. "Me too."

"They're talking Earth. A team vacation, because I told them that's the only way we'd agree to go. Six weeks, once you're mobile."

"I figured they would," John admitted, staring at the ceiling. He had some mixed feelings about that. But then he thought about showing Teyla the Grand Canyon and taking Ronon to Sea World. Maybe a six week vacation wouldn't be a bad thing, so long as his team was with him.

The pain was growing worse, inching higher in waves that were anything but gentle. Rodney was moaning as he shifted his body into a better position. "Oh, crap, that hurts," he gasped finally.

John was quiet, content to listen to the harsh pants coming from a very alive Rodney, and to his own heart monitor beeping steadily by his head. The rhythm was increasing a little, probably because of the pain and maybe a little at the thought of the long recovery ahead, a trip to Earth, and burned bridges that he might finally try to cross again.

"Sheppard?"

"Yeah?"

"This is worth it, right?"

"What'd you mean?"

Rodney waved a hand at his IV, his thickly bandaged belly, and then at John. "The pain," then he grew quieter, "the suffering." He looked away and took a steadying breath. "Never mind. This stuff Carson's giving me is making me emotional. Stupid, really." He turned again to John. "Are you okay? You need me to call Carson? Because you look like crap."

The painkillers he'd been given were fast wearing off and John knew he was reaching his limits. He closed his eyes a little and tried to grab some strength before looking at Rodney. "You're not exactly looking hot there yourself," he joked. "I can make it a little longer." He had spent too much time drugged. John just wanted to think clearly for a short while more.

Rodney didn't look like he believed him, but he didn't argue.

John thought about what Rodney had said. Was it worth it?

He'd died twice, came close more times than he wanted to count. Rodney, same… Teyla had been possessed by Wraith, unwillingly addicted to the enzyme along with the rest of his team thanks to Ford, shot, beaten. Ronon, had lost his world, his family, and spent seven years struggling to stay alive – _was it worth it_?

If Ronon had given up, he wouldn't have been there to save John and Rodney. If John hadn't insisted on trying to rescue Sumner and the others, Teyla would have died years ago. The choices they made, the pain they suffered, the roads that lead you where you are and you never know where you'll wind up until you're there. John chuckled, softly. "Yeah, Rodney. It's worth it."

Then a nurse and Carson were walking through the doors. Carson looked sleepily at Rodney, who merely pointed to John. The doc's eyes focused in on John and he said, "Colonel, you're looking a little rough tonight."

"Rodney!"

"You look like hell, Sheppard. I'm not going to spend the night listening to you moan and groan."

"I wasn't the one groaning a minute ago." John pointed at Rodney, getting Carson's attention 'that-a-way' and saying, "He got up to use the bathroom instead of calling a nurse and using the bedpan."

Carson glared at Rodney. "What's this? Rodney, are you trying to set yourself back? Do you know what would've happened if you'd fallen?"

"You have two eyes. I didn't fall. And I'm not using a bedpan," Rodney said, petulantly.

"You will, or I'll stick a catheter back up your little man, am I clear?" Carson kept glaring even while he took the hypodermic from the nurse, the one that she'd filled with pain medication that John didn't much want. Well, he did. But he didn't.

With another glare at Rodney, Carson took John's IV line and transferred his ire to John. "I told you to be honest with the pain. If you let it get too far out of control, it'll set your recovery back and that does nobody any good."

"Sorry, Doc," John apologized, ruefully. "You know --"

"Aye, I know, you hate how it makes you feel, but you'll have to deal with it for a little while longer." Then the medicine was released into the line and John nodded thankfully.

Carson pressed an understanding hand against John's shoulder. "Get some sleep."

"That's all I do lately," John complained.

"And you'll keep on doing it until I say you don't have to."

He already felt the medication dampening his pain and making him drowsy. "Give some to Rodney," he slurred. "He's hurting, too."

"I know; don't worry, he's next."

"Hey!" Rodney protested.

John's eyes had closed and he grinned sleepily. "Suck it up, Rodney."

"Sleep," Carson stressed. "Both of you!"

OoO

Rodney turned into the driveway, braking to a stop and shoving the gear into park. He looked over his shoulder where John sat in the back next to Teyla. His plastered leg full of signatures and "Get well, Sir!" stuck out straight in front of him, his crutches on the floor.

"You sure about this?"

John reached for his crutches, wincing from the pain. "Not really." But he figured dying twice and still living to tell about it might be a hint that he should get around to dealing with this. He'd made a lot of discoveries in Atlantis, and not all of them were technological.

Ronon jumped out of the front seat and opened the side door of their rented Tahoe blazer. He reached in and hauled John out, setting him carefully against the side of the silver car, before pulling John's crutches out and handing them to John. "There," he said. "Don't be such a baby. We're here to help you."

"Thanks big guy."

Teyla leaned forward. "Are you certain you do not wish us to come with you?"

"Yeah, not… not at first. Let me say hi and we'll go from there."

John wasn't sure whether his dad was going to slam the door on his face, or give him the five minutes to try and talk. And he wasn't completely sure he had the guts to say anything. Still, he nodded at his team, and started the hopping walk toward the front door of the rambling ranch-style house.

Before he made it to the porch, the door opened. His dad, haggard and looking older than John remembered, stepped out. His eyes were as hard as John remembered. They looked him over, narrowed, traveled over his crutches and knee-high cast, then skipped over John's shoulder to the SUV full of his friends.

"John," his dad greeted, not letting anything through.

Life was about living. About taking those chances. John still wasn't sure about God, but the way John figured, maybe God wasn't all that sure about him, either. He steadied himself and gripped the handles of his crutches, seeking any support he could draw. He glanced back to see Ronon standing by the door, Teyla trying to look like she wasn't hovering, ready to come to his rescue at a moment's notice. Rodney sat behind the steering wheel, watching soberly.

John turned back and squinted into the morning glare, smiling crookedly. "Hi, Dad."

**The End**


End file.
